


And the Stars are Fragile

by mckinlily



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Shiro for Black Paladin forever, some allusions to past violence, traumatized people helping each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 07:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10848981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mckinlily/pseuds/mckinlily
Summary: Voltron has been separated and hidden until such a time as all the Lions can be awakened. But the trauma of Zarkon's betrayal seeps deeper than anyone knows. The Black Lion will never accept another paladin.Until she does.





	And the Stars are Fragile

Her sisters are awakening.

Voltron is awakening, and the Black Lion is filled with dread.

This isn’t the first time they’ve stirred. Over the millennia, possible paladins have grown then faded, ultimately untouched. It’s always been clear that the timing is wrong, somehow. A missing blue paladin, the wrong red. A yellow paladin who couldn’t get along with green.

As for the _black_ paladin—

But they’ve never gotten that far. She’s felt suitable paladins develop. Yellow has even offered to bring one particularly strong one to her, but she’s refused them. _No. Not that one._ The strain of leadership, force of personality, it’s remarkably common in the universe. But the paladin that will suit _her_ — To fly on the wings of the wind, it’s more than leadership, it’s more than command. Her sisters understand.

And again, they haven’t gotten that far. There may be suitable paladins, yes, but no _Voltron._ The whole is more than the sum of its parts. So when a potential flies by her system and she does not call to them, or when her sisters offers her an option and she rejects them, they understand. This one does not have the right qualities. There are holes in another. They could not all fit together anyhow. As long as these flaws are obvious, she does not have to admit the truth. She does not have to confess that she never _will_ accept another paladin.

Until.

It’s Blue. Of _course_ , it’s Blue. Always the friendliest, the most excitable, the most willing to jump in paws first. She finds the paladins, and they _fit_. Not just each of them as individuals, but as a whole. They are Voltron. Their quintessence resonate so strongly that the other Lions engage immediately. Their bond floods with the image of Voltron, their true form, bonded with their paladins, finally _together_ again and _one_. Blue pulls in her pilot, scoops up the rest, and flies, leaping and rolling, coming home _._ The other Lions aren’t awake yet, not without their paladins, but they hum with anticipation. Buzz ranging from excitement to the outright desire to _fight_.

And Black…

Black says nothing.

Blue’s right, she can see it. These paladins _are_ the best there’s been in ten thousand years. They’re young, but already they exhibit the traits key to each of the lions. In time, they’ll grow indomitable. And they fit together, pieces of a whole like Voltron is supposed to be. The youngsters for the other Lions almost _hurt_ how much they are like the original paladins. Even the black paladin—He’s good, Black can admit that. Perhaps the strongest they’ve seen. Charisma, an unconquerable will, but beyond that, a desire to support, to elevate, a kindness and a gentleness born only out of true strength. He is, in every sense, a natural born leader.

It’s going to hurt them that she can’t accept him.

Already the others paladin-potentials are scattering, gathering the Lions together, her sisters all assuming that this is the beginning. That they can come together, form Voltron, fight the fight they were meant for _finally_.

Because she hasn’t told them. They assume he’s worthy.

But it takes more than a natural leader to pilot the Black Lion, even a good one, even one whose entire being wants to build and protect. Because she’s had that before. She’s had the perfect leader, the one who would do anything for his team, who she bonded with so deeply it was hard to tell where he stopped and she began.

She’s seen blood coat her claws, wanting to stop but not being able to. He’s sunk in too deep; she can’t reach her controls. She’s repulsed, appalled, but also feels deep justification because he’s here, he’s part of her, and his thoughts are her thoughts. She revolts against it yet moral conviction _still_ fills her. “No, Blackie, we had to do it. We _had_ to. There was no other way!” And her lasers are still firing. Her jaw blade forms. It moves—turns against her sister—

**_No!_ **

She breaks the bond. Like wood under a hydraulic press, it shatters, splinters, shards of Zarkon left, lodging in her workings, while he takes flesh-strips of her. His conscious tries to cling to hers, claws digging in, tearing for a hold. It _hurts_. She rips him out, the remnants of their bond tearing as she spews him into space.

But it’s not enough. She can still fill his terror. And his fury and his betrayal as he flips slowly head over heels in the void. She tries to block it out but she _can’t_. To bond with a paladin is to know one’s very soul. It is to love, and she can’t _not._ Even in absence of a mental link, she knows his pain. He reaches for her, tries to call her back as he has so many times before, and she struggles to build a barrier between them, a barrier she’s never built before because it’s never been _needed_. She activates her thrusters at max capacity, terrified. She has to fly away while she still can. Before he bleeds into her and takes her over again.

She hurts, and she flees. Bond thus broken, she can see what her paladin has become. Small and corrupted, determination without bravery, strength without compassion. Greedy and ambitious and cold. Nothing like a black paladin. But what she _can’t_ see is when he became this. Is it new? Had he always been this? How had she never seen? She’d been bonded with his very soul, his innermost thoughts, and yet instead of making her wise, it had only made her blind. What had she missed? When had he eaten her up so completely?

And now other Lions stand around her hangar, happy and _vibrant_ in their new bonds. They offer her up this human, this potential paladin. They rumble their excitement, all in agreement: this is the epitome of a Black Paladin. He’s brave and strong and gentle and kind, and his quintessence matches hers _exactly_.

They aren’t going to understand when she rejects this one, too. Red will be furious with her. Yellow will see it as a failure of duty. And neither Blue nor Green will ever understand her lack of trust. They are all eager, _longing_ to form Voltron. This is what they are _made_ for.

How can she deny them this? But then, what choice does she have? She is the head Voltron; it is her right to make the decisions that are hard, that hurt more than they sooth. And she has already had one perfect black paladin. This one might match her quintessence just as perfectly, but what makes him any different? What’s the point in fighting when she herself is the universe’s greatest enemy?

But there’s a part of her, the part that was part of a single whole before it was shattered into five, a part of her that deeply, _viscerally_ does not want to be alone. So she lets her sisters open the hangar and gazes down at her would-be paladin.

He’s small. But all paladins are small. Small and fragile and capable of far more than their physical bodies would suggest. His gaze widens in awe, taking her in. But all black paladins know the adventure and the wonder of the sky. He is exactly as her sisters described: the very essence of the Black Paladin, now in front of her just that much stronger.

And…

And he’s _scarred_.

Deeply scarred. The one on his nose is most obvious, but the scars continue, knotting and twisting on his arm, torso, legs. He has had his flesh taken by his enemies, replaced with something he hardly understands. There are nightmares swimming in his head, surfacing only as dreams. He’s been terrified and horrified, violated in the most fundamental ways and forced to do unthinkable things. The blood of a friend drips from his sword. And that of many others. Even now, his mind hides part of itself, trying to protect him from what he’s seen. What he’s _done._

He’s afraid. So afraid. Even with his mind thus hidden, he knows something of what he’s up against, fighting the very enemies who have broken him. He does not see himself as worthy of her. He has no such pretenses. But he sees is a need, gaping and consuming to the point of blocking out all else.

_Please,_ he begs. _Let me help_.

 

She lets him in.

**Author's Note:**

> This is, in fact, a oneshot and therefore complete. I love hearing what you think!


End file.
